


and I’ll go chase stars

by leonhartous (orphan_account)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 20:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/leonhartous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson is forty-two and he is breathless. He is dying. Author is not a fluent english speaker, beware of that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and I’ll go chase stars

## 

and I'll go chase stars

Phil Coulson is just seven years old and is already too eager to learn.

 

Anxious to know the world and how things work, always tiptoeing around the school and the neighborhood to search for interesting things, trying to see – to understand – everything around him. There is a wondering question slipping out of his small mouth (that is still filled with gapped teeth) all the time and his head is full of a never-ending childish curiosity.

 

He is very young and soon learns that the world is a wonderful place filled with wonderful and amazing different things. Like the taste of his granny’s chocolate cookies or the warm wind on summer. It’s almost too good to be true.

 

But nothing is perfect. There are the bad things too, mean people and all the sad news that he carefully watches at their old TV but still can’t fully understand their meaning. Phil just knows that it shouldn’t be like this, so he dreams. Dreams of chasing everything that is bad and evil out of this world. A dream far too big for a child, he knew that, but someday he would grow up and he could become a hero. A real hero.

 

He hoped that in the future he could be just like his dad – a police officer – and make justice happen with his own tiny hands. So, everynight, Phil prays to God and wishes that that would become true.

 

One night, however, he quietly walks out of his room and hides behind the kitchen’s door. He heard his parents fighting. Mom was saying something about Dad stop drinking, that retiring won’t make him useless… That he had done enough good already. Dad just growled and screamed telling that damn woman that she couldn’t understand, would never understand. Little Phil got more and more scared at each agonizing second.

 

His father slapped his mother that night – hard and brutal across her pretty tear stained face. He hit her many other nights after that too. The poor boy always heard, always saw hidden on his corner behind the door.

 

Phil Coulson is only seven when he learns that he never – never – wants to become like his father.  


* * *

  
Phil is eight years old when he first sees a Captain America speech recording.

 

It is an old video, from the times of war his history teacher says, and the image and sound are not even that good to keep the children paying attention. Certainly not like the recent movies at the movie theater.

 

But even with the boring black and white recording and the wheezing and sometimes failing sound, Phil pays attention to every single word said by the Captain. he says things about serving your country with honor, about saving people and being fearless while facing the enemy… And, and… Just being a good-hearted person. The little boy never felt so marveled. A hero, a real hero, and he really existed.

 

At that moment Phil decided that, if he couldn’t (didn’t want to) be like his father, someday he would be a hero like Captain America.  


* * *

  
Phil Coulson is fifteen when he finally gathers his courage and outrage and punches his father after he had – yet again- slapped his mother.

 

He feels relieved for the first time in so many years. A sort of strange contentment started to run through his veins, pulsating deeply within when he saw that horrible man unconscious on their kitchen floor, body limp against the impeccable white tiles.

 

“Mom, are you ok?” He asks and tries to help her up but is soon cut short.

 

“Phil, what have you done?” His mother questions, disappointment clear as water on her eyes and voice. The teen is mute for a moment.

 

“He was going to beat you again!” It escapes his mouth a bit too loud for comfort, edges cutting like a sharp knife.

 

“Your father is a good man! A good man! And I don’t want this to happen again, understood?” The youngster leaves the kitchen without a word and goes to his room with slumped and defeated shoulders, head low and eyes fixated on the floor.

 

“Phil… Your father just… He is lost, ok?” His mother speaks in a very hushed tune while she places his father’s head on her lap. Lost? Alright.

 

That would keep on repeating and repeating everyday. Or until one of his parents decided to give up or, should he say, give in…?

 

He is far too young when he learns that, sometimes, people just don’t want to be saved. And they won’t thank you for that.  


* * *

  
_One, two, three, you can hold on much longer. Or so you think._

 

Growing up was hard. Doing nothing to stop his father or put some sense inside his mother’s head was harder. He felt suffocated, almost as if his guilt had obtained hands and started to crush his neck years ago.

 

His insides were always twisting on strange and unusual ways whenever he caught himself thinking too hard on the matter. Phil felt like he wanted to spill his guts and together all that loathing, all that shame.

 

It was no surprise that when his father died due to all of the late night bottles of whiskey the air finally got inside of his desperate lungs. Breathe in, breathe out. His stomach decided to remain in place while he was at the funeral too, his eyes fixated at the coffin going down the earth. 

 

__

Four, five, and now your free.

 

But when he saw his mother crying so desperately on his father’s grave, as if she wanted to be buried there with him - as if she wanted to die - he felt like holding his breath again. Just him will never be enough to take care of her, he guessed.

 

__

Six, seven eight. You broke down.  


* * *

  
Phil Coulson is almost on his thirties and long has buried his mother, father and all the bad memories seven feet under the ground when the army decides to transfer him to a different branch.

 

His mother died some years after his father. Couldn’t wait to join him in heaven (or hell), he supposed. So right after he finished high school he went to the army and just let his anger run free. No one would wait him home, anyways. It was all quite hateful in the beginning, and he prefers to not dwell much in any of it. It is more likeable to remember the good things he has done since then, saving people, helping the country. It helped him to forget all the helplessness he felt when he was at home.

 

“Steve Rogers was part of the army, he was a hero. I’m closer to being like him now.” That thought almost never failed to chase away the ghosts that plagued him sometimes. When the thought failed, well, he just tried to sleep with his parents staring at him, disapproval on their eyes.

 

His superiors just said that he was a remarkable soldier, thus the transference. They never explained what he would do from now on or where he would go. He didn’t understand why all the secrecy around it and decided that it was better to not ask. In fact, he was actually quite thrilled by it.

 

Which brings him to his current position. An arranged meeting with his new boss. Quite an imposing presence, if you mind.

 

“So, you’re the new guy the army assigned for me?” He asked without even turning from his spot in front of the large windows.

 

“Yes, sir.” Too much time on the army made him like this, answers too short and shoulders too stiff.

 

“You’re not on the army anymore, kid.” Phil took this as his cue to relax his posture for a bit. “Now you’re a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. You will work for us, breath for us and kill for us. Is that clear?” The commander finally turned too look at him, as intensely as someone could when said person had just one eye.

 

“Yes, sir!” The man never felt so accomplished. He felt that now, he was really closer to being what Steve Rogers once was.

 

“From now on, you are Agent Phil Coulson. And I am Nick Fury, your commander.”  


* * *

  
It’s been three months since he joined S.H.I.E.L.D. when Phil meets Clint.

 

The guy is all serious talk and stiff posture, or it seems so. Everyone always tells him that his aim was something quite… Unbelievable. Phil never saw him shoot since they didn’t have any missions together yet, so he was limited to just imagine what unbelievable really meant.

 

Coulson is a normal man, or so he likes to think. Normal aim, normal stamina, no contact with any abnormal things like supersoldier formulas or gamma rays, so it’s nice to meet someone who is out of the normal list. Clint is a super human, a hero, and Phil is a normal friendly man, so he tries to start conversation.

 

“So, everyone around here says you can shoot a fly if you want to.” He starts. “I really wish to see that someday.” Okay, that was awkward. He was friendly; he liked to meet new people. But that didn’t mean he was good at it.

 

The Hawk just blinked.

 

“You see, I’m just a normal guy with pretty normal skills… It’s just so amazing to come here and meet, you know, not normal people.” Oh great, he started to babble, that was not good. NOT GOOD. “I mean, there’s that super intelligent doctor that had that accident years ago and…”

 

“Dude, I’m just as normal as you.” Clint interrupted his nonsensical talk (thanks God). He sounded quite unimpressed, and Phil imagined if he was like that all the time. “Besides, if Fury let you in, you are anything BUT normal.” The archer continued.

 

“Me? Oh no. Bad family history, but no superpowers.” The agent felt glad when his co-worker didn’t ask anything about ‘bad Family history’. “It’s quite sad, you know?”

 

“Enlighten me.” Clint had this amused smirk when he crossed his arms and leaned further on the cold stony wall.

 

“Well, even if I’m here right now, an important agent and all, I’ll never really be like him, since I’m not exactly extraordinary.”

 

“Him who?” Now The Hawk didn’t seem so bored anymore.

“Nah, just my ideal role model since I was a kid.” Coulson wondered how much he would be laughed at if anyone discovered he took an old soldier/hero as a role model.

 

“Captain America?” Phil felt as if his eyes were trying to jump out of his face.

 

“H-How do you know?” He would be the next few months current joke. Of that he was sure.

 

“Nah, the guy is the hero of 90% of S.H.I.E.L.D. It was an easy guess.” Now Clint seemed quite bored again. At least now he knew he wouldn’t be made fun of. “Really, they gave him that supersoldier formula, so I don’t think that really counts.”

 

“Steve Rogers was a war hero. He made the difference, that’s why I like him.” Besides the strength and all…

 

“Fan number 1, huh? No offence, but I like Iron Man better.”

 

“Iron Man? Isn’t he that cocky billionaire Boss was talking about the other day?”

 

“Well, he has lots of money and a cool armor. That is something, I have to say.” Clint started to fumble with his pockets. “Found it on my previous mission, I have no real use for it, so you can keep it.” He smiled and extended his hand.

 

“A card?” Phil took it from the Hawk’s hands and gasped when he saw it from up close. “It’s vintage stuff, you sure I can keep it?”

 

“Of course. But if you ever meet Tony Stark I want an autograph.”

 

“Friend, you’ve got a deal.” They smiled as they shook hands.  


* * *

  
He has been working for Nick Fury for exact one year when he meets Natasha.

 

She is just like Clint when he first saw him. Not many words beyond necessary and absolutely not many friends around here. Late gossip has said that she had done lots of… Not very good deeds and that Fury had wanted her head on a silver plate or buried seven feet under the ground.

 

He should stop being so friendly, really.

 

“So, why everyone here seems to be so pissed at you?” The agent realized that that was not a very smart choice of words when her piercing eyes met his gulping face. “Huh… I mean… Have you talked to the Boss already?” He clutched his tie as if he was ready to hang himself if necessary.

 

“I believe you are the man Agent Barton has mentioned.” The woman ignored completely his first choice of words –thanks God .Her Russian accent made she look even more menacing. She crossed her arms as she kept on staring at him.

 

“He has mentioned me to you?” Not good. Clint probably said something bad just to joke around with him. “Hum… What did he say?”

 

“That the three of us will probably become friends.” Oh, that was quite surprising. “No offence, but I don’t think so.” Ouch.

 

“Who knows? Maybe he is right.” Clint had a sort of sixth sense sometimes when it came to people. “You know, in the start me and him didn’t even talk. Last night we were watching the NFL finals and making bets.” Phil smiled and put his hand inside his pockets, where fifty bucks and his favorite Captain America card were. Natasha just raised an elegant eyebrow.

 

“I don’t know any of your sports.” She seemed quite irritated.

 

“Don’t worry, we won’t judge you.” He smiled even wider this time. The woman in front of him flinched a little, as if taken back by something on his phrase.

 

“Alright…” Her shoulders relaxed and she gave what seemed to be a very –very – small smile. “I always thought that baseball game of yours to be quite interesting.”

 

“We can watch it later. Do you like basketball too?” She wasn’t as bad as everyone said she was. Natasha just had a thick layer of hardness and sharp retorts for self-protection. But really, aren’t they all like this around here?

 

Ten bucks say they will be the best of friends.  


* * *

  
Genius. Billionaire. Playboy. Philanthropist. That’s what normal people thought of Tony Stark. Nick Fury thought he was a selfish bastard with attention cravings and lots of money, billions of it, in fact.

 

“He’s just… Hard to deal with, but he is a good man.” That’s what Phil always answered when anybody questioned him about the iron clad self-proclaimed hero. Apparently, he was the only sane agent who could deal with him when Fury needed to, and sanity is very underrated when you speak of S.H.I.E.L.D.

 

“Alright, Tony.” It always started like this. “Do I really need to explain why I’m here again?” The black couch on the businessman’s office was indeed very confortable.

 

“You can skip it, if you want to.” Tony had that smirk on his face. “I know that Fury is mad with me. He always is.”

 

“Why do you seem so amused with it? His bad mood affects everyone in S.H.I.E.L.D.” Phil looked at him with calm and collected expression, and hoped that he would understand that Fury’s bad mood meant more work for him. “What did I tell you about being stealthy?”

 

“Stealthy is too overrated for you guys.” Tony didn’t stop smirking. “And, it’s not fun at all” The newest hero of the country started to pour some drinks and gave one to the agent.

 

“Not fun, okay.” He gulped it all at once and felt the whiskey burning through his mouth and throat. He was too sober for that, anyways. “Just keep it down sometimes, will you?”

 

“I’ll do my best.” Stark raised his glass as if offering a toast for Phil’s enormous patience and Fury’s amusing mood swings. “But I won’t guarantee anything.”

 

“You never do.” Coulson got up from his spot at the couch and turned to leave, that until he remembered something.

 

“I always forget to ask you this whenever I get here.” He fumbled with his pockets until he found what he needed. Phil smiled and extended a small notebook and a pen to the man next to him.

 

“Can you sign this for me?”  


* * *

  
Phil had stopped counting the days he worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. when he first talks with Steve Rogers.

 

Not look at the de-frozen body, not looking at pictures. Just face-to-face to the real deal; the man, - the hero - who was (still is) an inspiration for him through his whole life. It is sort of awkward, really. E didn’t know what to say, much less what to do, so he tries his best to act like his usual calm self. At first he seems like one of those crazy stalkers who collected even their victims hair and nails, but he makes a good first impression. Or so he thinks.

 

“So, hum.” Phil starts. “If it’s not much problem for you, of course.”

 

“Oh no, it’s not problem at all.” Steve answers quickly. Very polite and still not used to this era of time and all the strange machinery that surrounds them in that airship.

 

“They’re vintage. It took some time for me to collect them all.” A very long time, in fact, but he doesn’t mention it.

 

He doesn’t mention a lot of things, like how the first card was Clint who gave him, or how three or four of them came from a collection of a man who was on the black list of S.H.I.E.L.D, and that Natasha gladly stole them for him. And there’s the rarest of his cards, given to him by Tony as a sort of apologize for all the trouble he caused (still causes) him.

 

Phil doesn’t mention those facts at all. He guessed those were stories for another day, one where they could have a hot coffee and where there was no super villain around to cause havoc.

 

“They are all near mint. Just a few smudges on the edges.” He felt that that day was close. Phil smiled.  


* * *

  
Phil Coulson is forty-two and he is breathless. He is dying.

 

“So, that’s what happens.” It was a small statement to himself. That was a cool gun, and he wished he could have used it before. The air seems to refuse to enter in his lungs properly and he thinks instead of talking so he can save his last ragged breaths.

 

“Just one stab, really Loki? That’s quite pathetic.” Pathetic, and his vision is starting to get darker. Phil imagined if his parents passed through the same thing.

 

Fury comes and goes fast and his words even faster. There’s no real need for reassurance here. He is quite glad someone is there with him; it makes the whole process seem less lonely.

 

Phil just whished that he could have seen The Avengers project complete, and he has this feeling that now it will surely work out, even with Tony’s misread arrogance or Steve’s old kind of thoughts. He wished he could see it.

 

Maybe, if he went after the stars that appeared before his eyes his wish would become true.

 

Just maybe.  


[fin.]

**Author's Note:**

> In my headcanon, Phil, Nat and Clint are best friends because they were the ones that - in theory - had nothing special comparing to the others and because it would be just too adorable (at least for me).  
> Also, when I was reading Hawkeye’s profile the other day, I discovered that he decided to become a hero after he witnessed Iron Man on action. That’s why Clint is Stark’s fanboy here.
> 
> I’m sorry for any mistakes regarding language or the canon story. I’ll do best next time, I promise.


End file.
